


Dorian x Inquisitor Appreciation (read: porn) Week Collection!

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (more tags to come as we progress through the appreciation week), Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Consensual Non-Consent, Dorian x Inquisitor Appreciation Week, Ficlet Collection, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, M/M, NSFW, Roleplay, Sloppy Makeouts, Tumblr Prompt, amatusparadeweek, pavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7271488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and ficlets for the Amatus Parade Week! Featuring Dorian Pavus and Varlen Lavellan, and the nonsense they get up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 - Make-out Session

**Author's Note:**

> So I figured I'd add in the gif/image from the tumblr posts at the end of the drabbles too, because _why not_. If people would prefer I didn't, just let me know!

“… Dorian?”

“Yes, _amatus_?”

“How many more pages?”

Varlen smiled to himself as Dorian let out a long huff of air, his own lips curving gently. With a show of begrudging playfulness, Dorian turned to the back of the book he was reading. _Alchemica Prima._ It was thick and leather-bound, and the back cover creaked slightly as the mage held it open with a careful finger. A lesser man would have simply flipped rapidly through the pages, revelling in the high-pitched whine of the paper as it curled beneath his thumb. But not Dorian. Such a thing was practically _blasphemy._ The book might as well be a new-born child. Actually, Dorian might treat it with more care than most infants he came across…

“… Eleven.” Dorian announced, and from his position on the floor, Varlen perked up at the news. He had flopped there about an hour earlier, half from exhaustion from his surprise sparring lesson with Cassandra, and half from desire to hide _because_ his surprise sparring lesson with Cassandra wasn’t technically over. He’s just managed to sneak away.

“Well, that’s good then—” Varlen began, but Dorian raised a finger, his eyes quartz-bright and _wicked_.

“— Hundred.”

Varlen stared blankly. “What?”

“Eleven _hundred_ , amatus. It’s a rather large book.” Dorian said, appearing to privately revel in Varlen’s sudden deflation. The elf sank back against the wall, letting out a low, miserable groan in the process. He tipped his head back, silver hair spilling over his shoulders, and did his best to look pathetic.

“Can’t you… take a break?” Varlen asked, a clear note of hope still hovering at the edge of his voice. At first, Dorian shook his head on reflex, and Varlen couldn’t say he blamed him. After all, if Dorian stopped and took a break every time he asked him to, he’d get nothing done. But when the mage’s gaze lifted from the pages to find Varlen, he seemed to hesitate, as though actually considering it. Varlen attacked Dorian’s briefly lowered defences like a well-trained mabari. Letting out an adequately forlorn sigh, he arched his back against the wall, pretending to stretch. His legs, bent at the knee in front of him, spread slightly with the movement, and Varlen did his very best to make everything appear perfectly  _accidental_. Unconscious. But when he finished his languid yawn and reopened his eyes, Dorian was giving him a decidedly frank look. One that said _I know what you’re up to_ and _you’re not fooling anyone._

“S’mthing wrong?” Varlen drawled, his lips teasing into a smile. Dorian narrowed his eyes at him in silent reproach.

Then he closed his book with a gentle thump.

Crossing the small space between them took Dorian the whole of half a heartbeat. Varlen almost wasn’t ready for him when he swept down, straddled his waist, and pulled him into a warm, loose-lipped kiss. However, the surprise did not last for long. Varlen responded near instantly, wrapping his arms around Dorian and pulling him in close, pressing up against the mage who in turn angled his hips down towards Varlen’s. For a moment, they were almost mindless, breathing heavily against flushed skin, tongues teasing each other’s lips, mouths, necks. The bookshelf was as good a privacy screen as any, but they still were conscious of noise. Of the involuntary low growl of moans, or the sharper gasps that could give them away. But despite it all, the heated, lust-driven impulse that began the moment seemed to temper rather than climb.

Varlen slowed down his ravenous kisses. Instead, he chose to linger. Chose to pull gently on Dorian’s soft, reddened lower lip, then trail down to his neck with a slow, silent reverence. His hands no longer grasped at Dorian back, but _caressed_ , running along the line of the mage’s spine. Admiring the curves of him. He was grateful that Dorian had swapped his usual leather outfit for a more comfortable cotton one. It made each movement of his muscles something to be felt. Experienced. _Appreciated_ , as they should be _._ It pleased Varlen to no end when Dorian began to relax against him, the tightness melting out of his body. The gentle ministrations of his hands coaxed a long, pleased sound from somewhere at the back of Dorian’s throat, and Varlen felt the vibration of it in his own mouth as they continued to kiss. It was soft – barely a whisper. It was just for him.

Eventually, they drew away from each other. Not with their usual gasping breathlessness. Not with sweat and shivering skin. The movement was slow and gentle, the way one would untangle oneself from a tender embrace. It was not something that needed to be done quickly; that benefited from sudden detachment. They did not need to catch their breath or slow their hearts. Dorian rocked back, his hands coming to rest on Varlen’s shoulders. The smile he gave the elven man made Varlen’s heart step sideways in his chest. In that moment, Dorian was so… real. So wonderful, every part of him. His moustache, teased into slight disarray. The glow of a smile in his eyes. The span of his shoulders beneath his shirt. The line of his jaw. If there was ever a sight that could move Varlen to tears, it would be that of Dorian, gazing down at him with a look so warm and loving that it felt like home. Looking at him as he was right then, in that moment.

“Amatus?” a hint of worry tinged the word. Varlen sniffed sharply and took one hand from its place on Dorian’s back so he could swipe quickly at his eyes.

“Sorry.” he mumbled, his cheeks warm with embarrassment. _Fenedhis. Of all times to have a cry…_

Varlen felt something warm close around his wrist. Dorian took it gently in his hand and moved it aside, uncovering Varlen’s face. Blinking through a blur of unshed tears, Varlen eventually found it in himself to look up at Dorian. When he did, his throat tightened, but not impossibly so. It was strange to care for someone so deeply that a single glance could bring with it a physical ache. 

But it was a _good_ ache. Like a stretch, first thing in the morning. Varlen welcomed it with a small, self-conscious smile, and Dorian leaned forward to softly kiss it away.


	2. Day 2 - Casual Sex

“So, _this_ is what I get.” Dorian grumbled, his shoulders slumped slightly as he sidled through the door to Varlen’s quarters, too tired to even push it open properly. “I offer my humble services to the Inquisition, as both a mage and scholar, and how am I repaid? Oh, of course! Let’s send the _Tevinter_ to the coldest place in Thedas. He’ll be _fine_ , what with all that evil Vint magic coursing through his veins. It has an insulating effect, you know.” he shuddered. “ _Southerners._ How do you cope?”

Varlen let out a tired laugh, following Dorian into the room as he ranted to the empty air. He was so exhausted he could barely lift his feet from the ground, and his boots scuffed gently against the stone. “You know, you could have just said you didn’t want to go. It’s not like Riven lied about where we were headed.”

Dorian paused, his expression softening into something more thoughtful.

“True.” he admitted, then turned to fix his gaze on Varlen, who was in the process of shrugging off his coat. “But _someone_ had to keep you from freezing to death in the snow.”

“Oh _sure._ ” Varlen said, scrunching his nose slightly as he pulled off his boots and socks, exposing his cold feet to the night air. “Funny. I seem to remember a certain mage sneaking into my tent every night and curling up against me like a kitten.”

“Nonsense.” Dorian declared with a dramatic wave of his hand. “I am far more like a _panther_.”

“Yeah, a _cold one._ ” Varlen tried to deliver a sharp retort, but his face had already betrayed him with a wide smile. He unbuttoned his shirt and cast it onto one of the empty chairs, rolling his shoulders and shaking his hands in an attempt to chase some warmth back into them. Dorian was also slowly shedding his layers; or at least, trying to. His fingers were unusually clumsy, and he fumbled with the belts and buckles that held his winter coat in place. After watching for a moment, a warm sound rolled from Varlen’s chest, and he crossed the room. Wordlessly, he took Dorian’s hands and moved them aside, tasking himself with _buckle duty_.

“I think you need more belts,” Varlen said absently as undid one, then another, “although I’m _sure_ these are all purely practical.”

“Some more than others.” Dorian admitted without a shred of shame, and Varlen could hear the smile on his lips. He looked up to see it anyway, and was rewarded with Dorian’s mouth pressing softly against his own. It was likely that Dorian had only intended it as a quick show of thanks. As a warm reminder of his affection as they both shivered, exposed to the crisp night air. But when the first kiss ended, it melted into another. Then another. Varlen’s hands continued to work, but the pair were gently gravitating towards the bed with half-conscious steps. Dorian began to assist Varlen where he could by slipping out of parts of his outfit whenever a belt fell slack, and Varlen responded with a low hum of approval. Soon, his coat fell away, and the only thing separating their bare torsos was the thin cotton of Dorian’s shirt.

Leaning forwards, Varlen tipped Dorian onto the bed, slowing the movement with a carefully placed hand on the mage’s upper back. With a knee between his legs to stop him from slipping back off the edge. Dorian ran his hands over the taut muscle of Varlen’s shoulder blades before raising his arms above his head. Wasting no time, Varlen took the hem of Dorian’s shirt and lifted it up, over, and away, abandoning it at the foot of the bed.

Dipping down, Varlen ran his tongue over Dorian’s chest, enjoying the taste of his skin and the change in texture when he reached the mage’s nipple. A tight gasp caught in Dorian’s throat as Varlen swirled his tongue around it, and soon Dorian’s hand was tangled in his hair. The mage arched, shivering, and the action caused Varlen’s knee to press firmly against his crotch. Varlen moved it slightly, grinding a little, and caught Dorian’s moan with his own mouth, pressing a deep kiss against his waiting lips. Varlen could feel Dorian fumbling at his belt now, his fingers no longer numb and making short work of the buckle.

Smiling against his lips, Varlen broke the kiss and straightened, sitting back on his heels and stretching out the muscles of his torso with a satisfied groan. Kneeling over his lover, he began to slowly unlace his breeches. His skin prickled as Dorian’s eyes drifted over the flat planes of his stomach, silent appreciation glittering behind bright grey eyes. They followed the sharp lines of his pelvis, which guided him inwards to where Varlen’s breeches lay unlaced and teasingly half-open. Varlen quirked his eyebrow and Dorian needed no further invitation. He reached out and hooked his thumbs over the top of Varlen’s breeches. Then he slid them down, the fabric still somewhat rigid with cold, but pliant enough that Varlen only had to roll his hips slightly before they slipped down over his thighs. Grinning, Varlen also freed Dorian of his dark breeches, and took a moment to step away from the bed to quickly kick off his own. Soon, they had returned to each other, their hands rubbing, stroking, and caressing each other’s skin. Lips meeting and parting then meeting again, separated by hot breath and tongue and the soft curling of moans from the back of their throats.

Groping blindly, Varlen opened the drawer of his bedside table and removed a bottle of oil Dorian had given him a few weeks ago. He popped the lid off, dipped in his fingers, and smiled as its coconut scent reached his nose. Dorian spread his legs without further prompt, and Varlen pressed his fingertip to Dorian’s entrance, tracing the oil around it teasingly, still kissing his lover with the bright enthusiasm of a man in love. It was distracting, certainly, but not enough to stop Dorian’s playful frustration as he pushed against Varlen’s finger. Giving in, Varlen slipped his slicked finger in, working it gently back and forth, enjoying the way Dorian’s breaths occasionally stuck in his throat when he brushed past a certain spot. He added another finger when he felt Dorian had loosened enough, and curved them gently, pushing in a little deeper. Drawing out a little faster. Soon, Dorian’s skin was flushed and warm, his chest rising and falling in short, half-drawn breaths. Varlen must have spent a bit too long enjoying the sight, and Dorian reached down, taking hold of Varlen’s wrist to still his hand.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he gasped, his face relaxing into a half-amused smile as he nodded down pointedly, “as pleasant as this is…”

“Ah… _right_.” Varlen said with a chuckle, and he kissed Dorian’s smiling lips before removing his fingers. Taking the oil, Varlen sat back again and began slowly slicking his length, putting on a bit of a show for Dorian. He felt it kind to return the favour, after all. Watching the mage draw his lower lip between his teeth sent a wave of anticipation through Varlen’s chest, and it spread all the way to his groin, warm and tingling. Once he felt the debt at been repaid, Varlen leaned forward. Lined himself up as Dorian moved to accommodate him. Then, he pushed in. Slowly. Feeling every inch moving deeper and deeper, disappearing inside of his lover, whose stomach muscles shuddered slightly, but made no further sign of discomfort.  

Varlen stayed still for a moment, giving Dorian a chance to adjust. He kissed him in the interim, using one hand to caress the line of his jaw. Letting his fingertips trail lightly down his side to earn a sharp gasp of laughter as Dorian flinched away from the sensation. Dorian broke the kiss and gave Varlen a slight nod, shifting slightly, adjusting his hips. Varlen moved with him, then began to thrust in long, slow movements, going deep but without hurry. Taking his time to enjoy the sounds and sights of his lover. The slight catch of his breath. The arch of his back. The way his eyes closed, his brow drew tight, and his lips parted ever so slightly. Varlen bit his own, doing his best to concentrate. To endure. Dorian reached up, placing his hand on the back of Varlen’s neck, and pulled him down into a needy kiss. The mage’s other hand drifted down Varlen’s torso, before finding his own hard length and stroking in time with Varlen’s thrusts. Soon their pace picked up organically, the heat in their groins growing steadily with each movement, demanding satisfaction. A release of tension. _A release_.

Breaths coming faster now, Varlen repositioned without breaking his momentum. He reached down, slipping his hands under Dorian’s hips, and raised them slightly from the mattress. The new angle was almost too much. Dorian moaned loudly, wrapping his legs around Varlen’s waist on reflex, his torso clenching as his stroking hand froze mid-act. His other hand tangled in the sheets. The drawn out sound ended in a gasp, and Varlen continued thrusting, his stomach coiling into a tight knot, waiting to be unravelled. But he forced it back. Kept moving. Gently manipulated the angle of Dorian’s hips, waiting for that telling moment. 

Then, he hit the perfect spot.

Dorian gasped, and Varlen found it again. Then again. Dorian’s whole body tightened, shivered, then clenched. He came, his hand stroking mindlessly as his upper body arched against the mattress and his legs clamped down around Varlen’s waist, pulling him close with a vice-like grip. The added pressure on his cock, coupled with the smug satisfaction of a job well done, saw Varlen reach climax shortly after. He bowed forward, warm waves of pleasure coursing through his groin, shivering all the way to his toes. Once he finished, Varlen gasped in a lungful of air, having forgotten to breathe for the full length of his orgasm. He released Dorian’s hips and collapsed forward, barely holding himself up with his forearms so he didn’t smother his lover. For a time, they both just breathed heavily, Varlen’s forehead pressed to Dorian’s shoulder, Dorian’s hand still knotted in the sheets.

Eventually, Varlen felt Dorian swallow, and a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around him.

“ _Amatus_?” Dorian asked, still somewhat breathless. He sounded worried, but not alarmed. It was more a gentle, half-pleased concern. It was then that Varlen realised his arms were trembling. But Dorian didn’t wait for a reply; he drew Varlen against his chest, politely taking away the strain of holding himself up. Varlen practically collapsed with the movement, sighing gratefully as Dorian held him, his soft hands rubbing gentle circles first into his back, then moving to his biceps, soothing the muscles there. 

“… And here I thought I was too tired to do _anything_ tonight.” Dorian mused quietly, and Varlen laughed against his neck, the sound slightly muffled by the mage’s sweat-kissed skin.

“Funny, that.” Varlen replied. “I’m going to remember this the next time you start complaining you’re too tired to walk anymore.”

Still laughing, Varlen let out an adequately chided yelp as Dorian playfully swatted his arm.

(Alas, their positions are swapped in the gif, _but you get the idea..._ )


	3. Day 3 - Kinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varlen and Dorian getting up to a bit of roleplay and some light bondage. Elements of consensual non-consent (although Varlen's ability to stay in-character is _pretty poor)!_

“Quite the dashing rogue, aren’t you? Tell me… how _did_ you manage to get past all my guards?”

Varlen swallowed, wishing not for the first time that he could see the man who was speaking. He shifted from his position on the floor, trying to take some of the pressure off his knees, his eyes straining in a useless attempt to see past the black cloth tied over his eyes. As he replied, he tugged experimentally at the ropes that bound his hands behind his back.

“A good thief never reveals his tricks.” Varlen replied, his lips curling into a smirk, as though daring his captor to rise to the bait. The man’s footsteps grew louder, and suddenly Varlen felt a hand seize his chin, jerking his head upwards. He grunted at the force of the movement, baring his teeth.

“Oh, you will be revealing far more than _tricks_ to me…” the man murmured, a certain promise on his hot breath, and Varlen’s heart lurched sideways in his chest. He was overwhelmed by a head-clouding fog desire; with the urge to lean forward and catch those soft lips with his own. They were so tantalisingly close, he _knew_ it. Then he remembered his part.

Varlen jerked roughly out of the man’s grip, biting back a snarl, doing his best to hide the tell-tale shiver of arousal. To mask it as disgust. “Lay a hand on me and I swear I will cut it off the second I get free.”

A light chuckle floated to Varlen’s ears, and he had to do his best not to smile and break character. It was so familiar that it was hard to maintain the fantasy.

“Such confidence! What makes you so sure you will be getting free? I may have no intention of letting you go.” Footsteps approached, and Varlen could hear the man kneel in front of him. He toyed with the idea of head-butting him, then cast it aside. _Too far_. “You intruded on my home, after all. Perhaps you should stay a while.”

Varlen was about to reply when his mouth was suddenly overwhelmed by a pair of forceful lips, then an equally sudden tongue. He let out a muffled yelp of surprise, but when he tried to pull away a firm hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him in place. Varlen put on a show of jerking and grunting, trying to wriggle free, but it was obvious he wasn’t giving it much _real_ effort. He knew how to escape. With a twist of his wrist, he would expose a small hidden blade. A few more twists and he would be free of his ropes. But as it was… he was rather enjoying the moment. It surprised Varlen a bit, even though it had been his idea to start with. Even though Dorian had come up with almost one-hundred ways for Varlen to stop everything out of sheer paranoia.

The man drew back, but kept his hand planted firmly on the back of Varlen’s neck. Gritting his teeth, Varlen tugged at his wrists, but they were tied well, pinned tightly to each other. Well, he definitely wasn’t getting out of them with brute-force alone.

“On your feet, then.” the man instructed, his voice slightly breathy as he spoke. Varlen heard him swallow, and decided he might as well do as he was told. It was better than kneeling, after all. “I’ve got some questions for you, and I expect you to answer well.”

Varlen struggled to his feet, slightly off-balance due to his blindfold and inability to move his arms. He stood awkwardly, not sure of what to do. He could run, sure, but to where? It wasn’t like he could see where he was going. He’d probably just careen straight into a chair or a table. _Wonderful._

Not much time was spent wondering what to do. A rough hand wrapped around his bicep and pulled him forward, almost causing him to trip over his own feet at the suddenness of the movement. Varlen was dragged, tugged, turned, then held in place. When he was sure he wasn’t going to be jerked around anymore, Varlen tilted his chin up, setting his jaw in tight, stubborn defiance.

“Well are you going to get to the questions, or just manhandle me all evening?” Varlen snapped. Warm fingers suddenly found the line of his jaw, tracing it slowly. Then they moved down to his neck, stroking along the lines of his vallaslin. Varlen bit back a moan, his body tensing, but mercifully the attention did not last for long. Those teasing fingers moved back up, ghosting along the underside of his chin, then traced across his mouth. The man’s thumb pressed hard against his bottom lip. Tried to slip inside, but met with clenched teeth.

“Manhandle you? How _tempting_ …” the man replied eventually, and Varlen shivered. He tried to lean away, the man’s thumb still between his lips, but as he stepped something collided with the back of his knees and sent him falling backwards. He cried out, expecting Dorian to catch him, but he didn’t. Instead, Varlen landed on something soft. The bed. _Good_. No, wait, _bad_. Right. Bad. Taking a moment to compose himself and get back into character, Varlen made an attempt to get up, only to meet the resistance of a hand pressed firmly to his chest. It forced him down again, pinning him on his back, his hands trapped uncomfortably beneath him.

“Right then, first question.” the man said, and Varlen felt him move. Felt the pressure on his hips as what was meant to be _his_ target straddled him. “Who sent you, hmm?”

Varlen chewed on his tongue stubbornly. Said nothing. He turned his head for effect, even though he couldn’t actually see Dorian above him. The spurning nature of the gesture was enough to convey his point. 

There was more movement; a tugging on his shirt. He felt the buttons being undone slowly, one-by-one. Intended to make him aware of each bit of loosened fabric, and doubly aware that he couldn’t do anything about it. Varlen squirmed, his breath catching in his chest, and Dor— _the man_ repeated his question.  This time, Varlen considered answering, but held back. No, not yet. This wasn’t enough. Soon, his shirt lay open, baring his chest to the chill of the air. He remained obstinately silent until teeth closed around his right nipple. At the same time, the man dipped one of his hands down, cupping Varlen’s crotch over the top of his breeches, rubbing in rough circular motions.

Varlen jerked, yelped, twisted aside. Heat rushed up his neck to colour his cheeks, and the man continued until Varlen wasn’t sure he could answer even if he wanted to. But eventually he managed. With a choked, wavering voice, he gave the man some made-up name. It sounded impressive enough. Baron _something_.  Or was it Duke? He couldn’t really remember the details of the confession, but it seemed to satisfy him enough to released Varlen’s nipple. However, the hand on his crotch continued to move, sometimes in circles, sometimes in long, hard lines that followed the curve of him, dipping back towards his ass. Varlen never knew what Dorian was about to do – he couldn’t prepare himself. Short breaths caught on his lips, their shape alternating between parted and panting or drawn tight between his teeth. Through it all were Varlen’s vain attempts to stifle the sounds building at the back of his throat, caused by the pressure of his groin.

“Good.” the man said approvingly as Varlen began to whimper slightly, bucking against his hand. He stopped his ministrations and Varlen gasped in a lungful of air. He tried to make a futile push back with the heels of his feet, as though to slip away from under his captor. But of course Dorian was still practically straddling him, and the attempt failed before it truly began.

“Uh-uh,” the man tutted, and Varlen snarled at his condescending tone. “Not so fast. It’s time for the next question.”

The man sat back again and at first Varlen didn’t really notice what he was doing. Then his breeches suddenly felt slack at the waist – unlaced – and they were quickly being drawn down. He reacted immediately, bucking and even cursing the man with a string of elven expletives in an attempt to make it convincing. Varlen thought he was doing pretty well, even if his bucking actually _helped_ Dorian work his breeches off due to the raising of his hips.

“You _bastard_.” Varlen snarled when he was finally exposed, his heart hammering away in his chest. “You didn’t even ask a question yet!”

The man chuckled humourlessly and ran his hands appreciatively down the length of Varlen’s form. Tracing the lines of his torso, sending shivering spasms through Varlen’s already flushed body. Varlen forgot to fight it this time, instead arching into the touch, his breaths burning past his lips, the strong muscles of his stomach tensing in anticipation. As the hands moved down along his hip-bone, he let out a low, keening sound, and was rewarded with a far more amused laugh.

“Like that, do you?” the man said, and repeated the gesture. Varlen quivered, then gasped sharply as the sensation suddenly went a sharp, bitter-cold. He jolted, completely surprised, and pulled harshly on his bound wrists out of reflex. Before he could stop it, a pained cry left his lips. Dorian stopped suddenly and began rubbing at his skin, warmth quickly replacing where the cold had been. The strokes were rushed. Apologetic.

“N-No, it’s okay.” Varlen said quickly before Dorian could even speak. “I’m fine. Just… pulled a bit too much, that’s all.”

“Ah…” Dorian said, the relief evident in his voice, but he continued rubbing anyway, the gestures becoming less frantic with worry and more soothing. “I see. Apologies. Shall I loosen the ropes a touch before we…?”

Varlen considered it, then shook his head. “No, it’s fine. But…” he hesitated, feeling the colour rise to his cheeks. “… can we take off the blindfold soon?”

“Of course, _amatus_.” Varlen could hear the smile in Dorian’s voice. He liked eye-contact as much as Varlen did. Then, he cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re sure you’re all right…?”

“I’m sure.” Varlen assured him warmly. “Now, where were we…?”

Varlen shifted. Tensed a bit. Twisted away from Dorian, setting his face in a mask of disdain and arousal. The arousal was _much_ easier to find and wear. Dorian chuckled again, then shifted, grasping Varlen’s waist firmly in his hands. With a sharp motion, he flipped Varlen onto his stomach and dragged his hips into the air. Varlen gasped at the roughness. At the complete exposure. He tried to lower his hips again, but Dorian’s hands held him in place, as though he knew he’d try it. Then, there was nothing for a moment. Varlen remained tensed like a coiled spring, waiting for _something._ Judging by his sudden lack of movement, Varlen assumed Dorian was taking a moment to admire the view. With his face pressed hard against the mattress, Varlen allowed himself a breathless smile against the sheets.

_This was going to be a good night._

_ _


End file.
